


Mission of Mercy

by murphycat



Category: Spock/Chapel - Fandom, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Complete, Developing Relationship, F/M, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murphycat/pseuds/murphycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after ST: TMP, Spock's Pon Farr is coming on swiftly and the ship is on shore leave.  Can he hide it?  Can he protect his and his partner's reputation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mission of Mercy

                      Thunder rolled in the distance, a far cry from the loud booming earlier when the hard rain had pelted the small house.  She could feel a cool breeze from the open window, curtains fluttering gently.  Thank God! She had thought she was going to spontaneously combust while waiting for him to roll off of her and remove the heat of his body, if only for a little while.

Christine lay on her stomach feeling the sweat evaporate as a soft puff of air flowed over and around her naked body.   Four days she had been here, and she was exhausted.  She had accepted the brutal nature of the Vulcan Pon Farr.  It was exactly as she had imagined, not romantic or sexy, only a rough and urgent drive for species survival—for _his_ survival.    Honestly, Christine didn’t know if Spock even recognized who she was at times.   She felt as if she was human clay, and Spock had taken and formed of her what he had needed to survive—and nothing else.

She refused to dwell on it. It was a medical matter, a mercy mission.  It wasn’t intended to be amorous or tender.   She would not mourn what had not lived long enough to die.   Christine had burned off the last of her feelings over the past year since the “Big 3” had returned to _Enterprise_.   Spock could not have been clearer or more distant, and she was way past the doe-eyed romantic she had been when younger.   Nope, now she was actually angry with herself.   This woman, this doctor, would not be weak for him again.  Period.  She had formed new relationships, friendships, friendships with benefits, and she was over him.

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Spock had reported to her in Sickbay six days earlier.   McCoy was on shore leave with the captain, and she and Commander Spock were “minding the store.”   Dr. Chapel, ACMO, of _Enterprise_ , had noticed his biological readouts and the implications, of same, from the perscan data device, which documented crew status in sickbay.  Looking at the data, Christine could see that his condition had come on suddenly with little warning.  His adrenaline levels were already borderline unstable—as might be his mental status.   Summoning Spock, she had been quietly blunt.

 Did he have a plan?

 No.  This was unexpected.  His human half, blah, blah, blah.  Christine could swear he could pinpoint every problem he ever had on his human half.

 They were both due for shore leave as soon as their replacements returned, she pointed out.   They could take it together.  She could certainly separate her professional life from her personal.  There really was no alternative, unless he had chosen someone with whom he had made arrangements. 

He had not, yet Spock had rebuffed her offer.  Stiffly, she thought later with a wry smile.   Christine returned to her work, deciding to wait.  He was an adult.   He had a little time; his condition wasn’t   dire—yet.

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At 23:30 hours, the evening before Kirk and McCoy were scheduled to return, the doctor’s door chime sounded.  Not surprised, she said, “Come. “  

Her stateroom door slid open to reveal Spock looking…...formidable and slightly aggressive.

Christine rose to her feet; she didn’t want him looming over her, and said, “Please come in, Commander.”

 She appraised him coolly, as he did her.  Two old, why did the word spring to mind,   _adversaries_ weighing the strength and resolve in themselves and each other.    Perhaps even the motivation, but now was not the time for reflection.  

Stepping into her quarters, as the door swished shut behind him, Spock looked at her face, into her eyes, with a touch of irritation, and said that he had reconsidered her proposal.  He asked if she was still willing to assist him with his _situation_.  Just like that.  Like he was asking her for a glass of tea or for help with a lab experiment.  

Christine was as still as a rabbit in front of a cobra, and said one word, “Yes.” 

Spock continued, “I will gather supplies and I recommend that you do the same.  I will be ready for beam down as soon as I turn over command.  I will send you the coordinates of the location that I have chosen, and I will be expecting you.”

“Understood.” She stood still looking at him, and him at her, as if there was more that needed to be said, but neither knew what.   The die had been cast.

Finally, as the Vulcan turned to leave, Christine said, “Commander—Spock-- if you have difficulty….”  

His back stiff, and without looking back at her, the Vulcan stopped and said, “My condition will be….bearable for a while longer,” and then he escaped through the closing doors.

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Christine rented an old land car, and, using the GPS coordinates, found the small cottage that Spock had chosen.  Just in time, as the second sun was setting, and the dark would have made her journey more treacherous.  They were nowhere near where the rest of the crew was taking leave.    

 The doctor had come upon the house quite unexpectedly, as it was off a rough dirt road.  Apparently every road to the top of the park on Moldar V was as hazardous; the native population wanted the park—and planet—as unspoiled as possible.  The small house was in the center of a forest, but at least two roads and one hiking path were within a ¼ mile of the place Spock had chosen.  Thanks, Spock, for making it so convenient for me, Christine grumbled to herself.  There’s nothing like that Vulcan sensitivity.   He was taking no chance that anyone from the ship saw them together, she thought.

She stepped out of her transport, went to the rear hatch, opened it and retrieved both a medical and a personal bag.  Christine wanted to call out, to make sure she was at the right place, but she felt compelled to be quiet for some unknown reason.  Reconnoitering? She smiled to herself.  Checking it out before meeting her enemy?  Patient?  Commander?  There was no precedence to this, probably, at least not a documented one.   

Moving to the steps, Christine pushed open the unlatched door.  Still no sign of Spock.  The cottage was stone, and immediately upon entering, the coolness was welcoming.  Looking around, she could discern that the house was basically one room: small cooking area, a couple of chairs in front of a fireplace, and in the back what looked like a bathroom.  And, yes, a bed. 

Christine felt heat rush to her cheeks and neck.  With a flash, she realized that maybe this hadn’t been such a brilliant idea.  Perhaps Spock could be placed in stasis….  No!  She knew that was impossible.  He might not wake up with his metabolism so hyped up and his adrenaline levels off the charts.  She realized she hadn’t told anyone or left a message where she could be found.   Spock had instructed her how to dismantle any possible tracking devices.  God!  What if----

His deep voice startled her and she sucked in her breath  involuntarily and jumped.  Spock was behind her.   She hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Doctor?  May I take these?”   He gestured towards her bags.

“Yes.  Thank you.”  She noticed his face and the tension engraved in the tightness of his face and the drawn brows. 

He placed them carefully near the bed and then turned to face her.

Now that they were here, it seemed neither of them knew quite what to do first or how to approach each other.  Christine knew they were far from being strangers: they had shared a consciousness; torture at the hands of powerful aliens; a kiss.  She had held his hand and tended him many times when he was at his most physically damaged, hell, had told him at one time that she loved him.  Not her most stellar moment, but in her defense, none of the crew was unaffected by an alien microbe.

She and he were two planets who had orbited each other for years with a cosmic balance between them that kept them tethered together and yet also held them at a forced distance to maintain equilibrium. 

Christine could sense the need and urgency in him that made her want to comfort him and, at the same time, to pull back.

 Why did it have to be _her_?  Spock’s mind was more feverish and agitated, by now.   His Vulcan senses were on high alert and his mind was awash with images of her:  feeling her soft body underneath his on Platonius; her cool, gentle hands smoothing his brow and talking to him while she thought he was asleep; telling him she loved him, exactly as he was, staying by his side through a courts marshal.  

He knew she had established an identity that no longer branded her as the “Vulcan’s Venus,” who had no arms because it made it easier for him to push away.   Spock had been scrupulous in protecting her from gossip or allowing any hint of impropriety between them.  He had refused to do anything that would make her endure distasteful rumors again.  Now, all that was undone if this, they, were found out.   His own renowned control was undone by his biology.  One of the halves she claimed she loves—loved. 

Now all he could concentrate on were her long legs, her voluptuous breasts through the thin material, and her flushed face and neck.  He could see the pulse in her neck as it hammered away with anxiety.

 “Would you like water?  You seem distressed by the heat of the day or perhaps the drive was more challenging than expected?” he asked, turning to hide his shameless desire for her.   His sexual appetite was off the leash, and she was the only one to turn to who would not let him die, but more than that, Spock desired her.    He had always _desired_ her and had done nothing about it even when there had been an opportunity years earlier, during his first Pon Farr.   Now he had no choice, and there was a deep part of him that was glad he could blame his wanting her on a state of affairs completely out of his hands.

“Yes,” she said.  “Excuse me, please.” 

While Spock went to get her water, she crossed the floor into the lavatory and closed the door.  Sitting on the side of the rock bathtub, she realized her hands were trembling.   Getting up, Christine turned on the faucet and splashed icy water over her face and throat.  God, that felt good!   Now what, she asked her image in the mirror.   Do I go out naked?  Does he jump me like a sehlat?  Damn, what the hell had she been thinking?  Finally, she looked one last time at herself in the mirror.  Reflected back at her were two large, blue eyes, and steeling herself, Dr. Christine Chapel walked out to face the consequences of her decision.

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Spock was waiting impatiently when she opened the door.   He could smell her sex and the edge of her fear.  She drank thirstily from the water he handed her.   When she was finished, she moved toward the bed and placed the glass on the table there.  Kicking off her sandals on the floor, she stood barefoot, now not quite as tall as he was.

Spock’s face was alarmingly dark and menacing.    “Sit,” he said, hoarsely, “on the bed.”  The lust on his face was unmistakable.

She did, trying to ignore how unsteady her legs were.   Without preamble, Spock dropped heavily to his knees and pushed between her legs, spreading them apart.  He began to unbutton her shirt as if it was a laborious task and removed it.  Pulling her close, his pressed his face between her breasts and inhaled her familiar, evocative scent that elicited an unexpected feeling of being home.  Running his hot hands over her shoulders and chest, he abruptly grabbed the front of her bra in both hands.  He ripped it in half, pulling it off and dropping it on the floor at her feet.

 Shaken by his fierce display and the aggressive look in his eyes, Christine instinctively pulled back and pushed against his chest to get a little distance between them.  Her reaction had the opposite effect. 

The _Enterprise_ ’s stoic, dispassionate First Officer Spock lifted Dr. Christine Chapel and tossed her onto her back on the bed like a plaything.  Displaying catlike reflexes, he possessively grabbed both her hands and pinned them above her head and straddled her, kissing her almost mercilessly, until Christine feared she would suffocate.  His tongue probed her mouth, and she thought he may have nipped her on the lip.  Suddenly he released her, and she inhaled air with a cry of relief.

 While still holding her hands, Spock began to lick and mouth all the way down her neck, her shoulders, her stomach, and her breasts, taking one nipple in his mouth, while spreading her legs with his right knee.  He even passed over her underarms, smelling as if to make sure she was his.  The craving to be inside her was out of control, and the Vulcan was now a churning, shameless creature whose instinctive drive to mate could not be stopped.  Releasing her and reaching down with powerful hands, he tore the shorts and underwear from her body and threw them angrily across the room, as though they were deliberately keeping her sex from him.

Christine realized that he was naked—when the hell had that happened!  She tried to speak or cry out, neither of them knew which, because Spock covered her mouth with his again and reached down to guide himself into her warm center with brutal swiftness, forcing her to accept his large, fully engorged penis.   With her hands released, she pushed against his chest and shoulders, but it only seemed to arouse him more.

Christine struggled to cry out, but his world was between her legs and that’s all that mattered.  Spock buried himself in her to the hilt, and began to pump forcefully while pushing her legs up as if he could go deeper   Christine felt his release almost immediately and her insides became exceptionally warm.  Spock didn’t even pause, thrusting relentlessly; his ejaculation into her sheath made it easier for him to penetrate her.  He alternated between grabbing the human woman’s head between his hands while grunting words, to kissing her mouth and biting her neck.   Then his hands would release her head and clutch her full, pale breasts, taking a rosy nipple in his mouth and suckling it like a wild beast.   

Their coupling stayed frenzied and timeless, and the darkness grew outside the cabin and in.   Christine’s world had narrowed to physical sensations.   His thick hardness had forced her to accept him into her center at first, but now viscous wetness trickled down Christine’s backside and pooled under her.  His ejaculations increased, her discomfort had eased, and, finally, thank God, he slowed to a seductive rhythm, grinding against her, burying his face in her hair and neck.

  She found herself spontaneously arching to meet him, wrapping her arms around his back, then grabbing his ass to pull him into her deeper.  God, she had wanted him for so long!  Reaching up, she took his head in her hands and forced his mouth to hers.  Turning his head, Christine took her tongue and licked those delightful Vulcan ears and he moaned in ecstasy. 

She bucked him, unexpectedly, and rolled him onto his back.  Spock could not take his eyes from her, an ivory goddess who was astride him, her breasts like two fleshy pendulums begging to be touched by him.  Like two primitive savages isolated from a civilized world, they wrecked wanton, sexual havoc on each other.   Unrestrained and feral, sex became more erotic and more decadent.  Their union became their entire existence. 

Christine could felt her insides tighten in a surging spasm, as she cried out loudly in release.

Spock climaxed again, but still, he wasn’t finished, and he turned Christine again to her back.  The last thing she felt were his hands on her face and his voice softly whispering Vulcan in her ears, followed by explosive orgasmic bliss that ebbed into a beautiful, liquid darkness in a never-ending wave.

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Four and half days later, Spock awoke with a jerk,immediately sitting upright in the bed.  Only disoriented for a split second, his mind quickly cleared.   Leaning over, he peered closely at Christine for signs of physical damage, relieved that he could see her chest rise and fall rhythmically.  She had dark fingerprints on her wrists and arms, her lower lip was bruised, and she was curled into a semi-fetal position as if she was cold.   He touched her shoulder softly and she emitted a quiet, unintelligible sound. 

He reached down and pulled the blankets up over them, brushing her cheek with his fingertips tenderly, as not to wake her.  Her thick hair was in tangled disarray, he noticed, running his hand through the soft strands.

 For the first time, he noticed she was wearing a pendant with what looked like a large Earth emerald.  Picking it up from where it lay resting between her breasts, Spock was awed that it was still unbroken.  Dropping it to its rightful place, he lay back down beside her.  He realized he had never been so spent.    Putting his left arm around her waist, he gently pulled her close, and with his face in her hair, Spock fell asleep almost instantly.  

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As her eyelids fluttered open to the light coming through the sheer curtains of the window, Christine realized she _really_ needed to go to the bathroom.   She began to rise and the arm which had been encircling her tightened.   She waited and tried again.  This time she was successful.

Closing the bathroom door, she looked at herself in the mirror.  Dear Lord!  There were black and blue marks along her shoulders, neck, and, was that a _bite_ , on her lower lip?  As she sat on the toilet, her rubbery legs helped remind her why she was here.  Dried semen was on the inside of her thighs along with a small amount of dried blood.   And sore!  She felt like she’d wrestled a Klingon warrior.  Her upper quads and the outside of her hips ached uncomfortably.   Rising, she reached and turned on the faucet, allowing the tub to fill with very warm water.  

Opening the door, she could see Spock still sleeping.  Stepping into the room, Christine grabbed both bags and rushed back into the bathroom.   Before she entered the tub, she used the regenerator on her genitals; the lips of her labia and the entrance to her vagina were almost raw.   After that, she passed it over her lip, which cracked every time she moved her mouth.  Oh, so much better! 

But no more right now, she thought, putting the medical device on the counter.   Weak from exertion and little nourishment, she stepped into the warm water and let it leach the soreness from her aching body.

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Christine Chapel had been awake for almost three hours when Spock awoke.  When he first noticed she was not beside him, he felt a rumble of possessiveness deep inside.  Before he went to find her, he desperately needed water.  He moved to the kitchen spigot and, cupping it in his hands, drank deeply.  His body felt dried up, an empty husk.    
Spock picked up a piece of fruit off the counter, and after eating it, he dressed in his pants, sans shirt and shoes.  The front door was open and he stepped out to find Christine sitting with her back against one of the porch posts, absorbing the last of the daylight.   Her eyes were closed.   Spock sat opposite her and just watched her as the light breeze played with her hair and the green of the stone around her neck flashed in the sun’s dying light.

She had dressed in a pale pink sleeveless top and denim shorts.   He saw bruises up and down her arms, fingerprint bruises and dark circles stood out against the pale skin under her eyes.   Her hair was now gathered into a loose bun and held together with—a stick?   Spock felt a surge of desire for her, again, and controlling it as best he could, he realized, as he had so long ago, what an extraordinarily beautiful woman she was.  

Why had she agreed to come with him?  He had sensed her coldness and distance since they had met in sickbay, days ago.  They had only spoken in relation to ship’s matters for over a year.  Oh, he had seen her with friends and with dates, he assumed.   His raging sexual need for her had made her life and his disruption of it, irrelevant to him.  Why was this plaguing him now?  Was there someone waiting for her even now on the ship?   One corner of her mouth turned up in a kind of half smile.   “Commander, I see I didn’t hurt you too badly.”

Spock didn’t smile but his face was relaxed and unguarded.  “I am relatively undamaged.  My only concern is how I will explain the scratches on my back and buttocks to Dr. McCoy.”  

Blushing pinkly, she replied, “I brought a dermal regenerator and I can help you with those.  Granted, I _could_ leave some small scars—war wounds, if you like.” 

Elevating his eyebrow, while the corners of his mouth barely turned up, Spock said in a low sensual voice, “And what if in the future they evoke vivid and graphic memories?    What treatment would you prescribe for any residual effects.”   

Spock could see his teasing had mysteriously aroused her; Christine’s respiration had increased and the look she gave him was seductive, which aroused _him_.   Moving over to her, he spread his hand against her left check and temple and looked in her indigo eyes with deep focus.   He kissed her softly without the previous urgency.  With her heartbeat pounding, she wrapped her arms around him and hotly returned the kiss.

In an effortless and graceful move, he swept her into his arms and took her back to the bed.

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When Spock awoke the next morning, Christine Chapel was gone.  She had left her medical paraphernalia with instructions for anything he might need, along with a bowl of mixed fruit and fresh baked croissants, and nothing else.

For a while, Spock sat outside trying to meditate.  He couldn’t.  Memories were like physical sensations and he couldn’t shake the images of her burned into his mind.   The mere thought of her touch caused him to become slightly erect.   The time they had spent together had saved him, along with Christine’s knowledge of xenobiology.  She was privy to all new medications and treatments, so with what she had left behind for him, he would be himself once again.  For some reason the thought of returning to the ship and having things the same as before in his life wasn’t that appealing at themoment.  

Christine had literally saved his life.  It was fortunate for him that she had intervened, but unfortunately for him, Spock found that he missed her company.   Not the sex, but her.   Especially during the last evening, his drive had not been so all consuming and the intimacy they had shared was---he didn’t know how to describe it, since he had never experienced it before.   She had left without so much as a word or a note.   So, she had indeed moved on with her life.  Instead of being relieved, Spock felt abandoned and anchorless.   So this is what it felt like to be “dumped,” as Jim Kirk called it.  The Vulcan had never thought that she would _not_ be there; he had thought it would always be his choice as to how things progressed or didn’t between them. Finding out she didn’t want him was unpleasant and _decidedly_ unexpected.  

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Spock met the captain as he walked down the corridor carrying his bags, back from shore leave.

  “Well, Spock, you must have had a remarkable time, planet-side.  I have never known you to take your full amount of leave-time, “ Jim Kirk said, with a boyish grin.  “Run into any Vulcan beauty queens down there?”

Spock gave him a sideways glance, “There are no Vulcan ‘beauty queens’.”   To value a person strictly for their physical attributes and not more important qualities is quite illogical, Jim.”

Putting his arm around his first officer’s shoulders, Kirk continued, “Something down there agreed with you.  I’ve never seen you so….relaxed?”  When Spock didn’t respond, the captain stopped and took Spock by the arm.  “You met a _woman_?  You old Vulcan dog, you!”

Spock raised his brow and said drily, “I assure you, captain, I did not encounter any woman by chance while on the planet.  It was, however, challenging to be in a different environment.”

Kirk smiled at him, and said, “Whatever you say, old friend.   Whatever you say.”

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Twelve hours later, Alpha shift had reported for duty and were preparing the ship to leave orbit.   The captain waltzed over to Spock’s station. 

“I see you have reacquainted yourself with the ship, Mr. Spock,” Captain Kirk teased.   “I trust the _Enterprise_ is still functioning properly.”

“Yes,sir.  All systems are functioning within normal parameters,” the science officer answered crisply.

“Very well,” Kirk said.  “Chekov, I trust all personnel have been retrieved from the surface?”

“One moment, Keptin,” he said, as he doubled checked his data.

“Keptin,  Dr. McCoy has noted that Dr. Chapel has not reported for duty, and  according to her perscan device, she is not on board the ship, sir.”

“What?”  Kirk ordered, all joviality gone, “Get me, Sickbay.”

“Yes, sir.”

“McCoy here.”

“Bones, are you positive that Dr. Chapel isn’t on board yet?  Strangely out of character for her,”  the captain mused.

“Tell me about it!  And I’m overloaded down here with hung over crewmen with interesting rashes.   I’m worried, Jim.  This isn’t like her at all,” McCoy said worriedly.

“Hold the fort, Dr. McCoy.  We’ll find her.”  Turning to Mr. Chekov, “Ping her communicator on all available frequencies.  Let’s see if we can track her by her communicator signal.”

A few minutes passed, then, “No answer, Keptin.   We could scan, but that is a wery large planet with a lot of humans; it vould be nearly impossible to find her.”

Kirk turned to Spock for suggestions and was struck by how his first officer’s facial and body language had transformed from relaxed to unusually distressed.  “Commander Spock, are you all right?”

“Yes, captain.  Request permission to take a landing party to the planet.”

“Affirmative, Mr. Spock.  I expect you to bring her back in one piece or McCoy—“

Before Kirk’s words had died in the air, the Vulcan had motioned to Chekov to join him and the turbo lift’s doors were closing.

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Commander Spock, Chekov, Nurse Akira, and two security guards materialized in the clearing outside the cabin.

“Commander, is there some reason you picked these coordinates, sir?”  Chekov asked, looking at him questioningly.

Spock didn’t look at him when he answered, “I vaguely remember hearing Dr. Chapel say something about coming here to stay while on leave.    Chekov, take the Nurse Akira and go down the west road.   Lt. Montenegro, head south, and Ensign Souther, north.  If there is no road, press through the forest.   Report in every thirty minutes.  I will take the road east.”  Looking up at the sky, he said, “There are still 7. 82 hours left until dark falls.  Let’s find her before then.  Be alert, she may be injured.”

Spock walked briskly down the rocky road, checking for signs of Christine or her vehicle.

After two hours and two check-in’s from his landing party, Spock called _Enterprise_ and requested more searchers.  This time, Captain Kirk beamed down with extra personnel.  

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Christine took a belt and tied it above the wound on her thigh after packing around the gash with pieces of a shirt that she’d ripped apart.  The blood flow had slowed, but before she had come to, she had bled enough to pool underneath her leg.

 The morning she had left the cabin, Christine had felt wounded and disgraced by how easily she had given in to her feelings, feelings she was sure she had quashed.   Her “mercy mission” had not turned out like she’d thought it would.  Maybe she’d known deep down it wouldn’t, but she had wanted to believe it.  She might have had more success if their time together had gone differently.    If Spock had just continued to pound her like she was a faceless entity, she could have walked away knowing that he wasn’t worth the pain and longing she had put herself through.  But he hadn’t.    She had felt treasured by him the last evening, and the entire experience was nothing like she had ever dreamed of and probably would never happen again. 

 Christine could not stay to face the emotionless Vulcan that would inevitably emerge.  She decided to have mercy on herself and leave before he awoke.  Once she got to the ship, each of them would stay in their own spheres, and this entire experience would be easier to file away.   Right, keep telling yourself that, kid.  For some reason the voice in her head sounded like Leonard McCoy which only irritated her more.  

She was so sidetracked by her thoughts that she was not carefully adjusting her speed for the road.   As she rounded a curve, the road tilted upward, at an angle, with huge ruts.  Christine swerved the vehicle and tried to slow it down, but its speed was still too fast, and she hit the deep ruts perpendicularly.   The wheel was ripped from her hands and, she swerved across the road and the ground car flipped on its side with a thundering crash.  Without a safety harness, she bounced across the cabin and down into the glass and twisted metal that was now the floor. 

The impact knocked her unconscious  momentarily, and when she came to, there was a piercing pain in her leg.  Reaching down, Christine felt something liquid and warm.  Not good. 

A piece of metal from the door frame had twisted inward and Christine had fallen down onto it.  It was plunged deeply into her thigh muscle.  Someone less knowledgeable about this type of wound would probably have yanked the leg free immediately.   She knew that was definitely not a good idea.  It would be better to leave it in because the metal pressed against the inside of her wound helping to seal off the cuts and kept the bleeding down.  Maybe not a lot less, but if she pulled free, she could bleed to death before help arrived. 

She would be missed from the ship, but how soon?  Staying here, she had shelter. At least Spock would know her general location when a search was initiated, and less movement would definitely be for the best.    Resigning herself to waiting, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.   Letting her head rest against the side of the passenger seat, Christine suddenly noticed a sickly sweet smell.  She didn’t have her medical bag, and there was nothing that could have burst in her personal bag that smelled like that.  

Inexplicably, the odd odor had a strangely familiar—shit!  The fuel cell!  It was the chemical that was added to the fuel cell to warn there was a leak.   She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before.  Hydrogen had a very low ignition point and leaking into a space as small as the interior of the wreckage, it would be contained and even a static spark could set it off.   Now she had no choice, Christine knew she had to get out, but first she had to pull her leg free regardless of the bleeding.  _Faster_ , she might bleed to death _faster_ ; the thought was frightening but correct and a hellava lot better than burning to death.    With no medical bag, she would have to work with what she had at hand and that included getting out of here and finding help before she died from hypovolemic shock.

Bracing herself for what she knew was going to hurt like hell; Christine wrapped a piece of shirt that she had taken from her bag around her hand. She took a deep breath, and pressing down firmly on the wound, she yanked her leg free from the metal stuck inside her.  Her mind went red and black with pain, and her head swam dizzily.  Damn!  Damn!  DAMN!

 After what seemed like an eternity, the sharpest of the pain began to subside.  She tore another piece of clothing into shreds and tied the clothes into and around the slashed flesh.   Now to get out of here.  Through the front window would be easiest, but it was only cracked and not broken.  Using her uninjured leg, Christine kicked and kicked until sweat dripped into her eyes, and more blood seeped through her makeshift bandage.   Not going to happen in her lifetime.   She looked up; she’d have to try to get out the window on the top side without making one giant crater into her grave.   Great.  Piece of cake.  What were the frigging odds that she would bang Spock for five days and then bleed to death in a freak accident?  Well, whatever the odds were, she was one lucky woman.   Crap.

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Spock communicated his intention to Captain Kirk that he was going to continue searching in his present direction.  He knew that this was only one of two routes that she could have taken, so he suggested to the captain that the search parties be staggered down the length of the roads to the town to the prearranged transport coordinates.   Kirk had reported that they had checked with the authorities there, and Dr. Chapel had still not reported for transport to the ship. 

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Christine moved to a kneeling position.  Not the optimal choice because it caused the puncture to gash open , but she couldn’t totally stand up and the driver’s window was only half down.   Grabbing the window with both hands and trying to ignore the agonizing pain in her leg, she pulled with all her strength.   The window wasn’t budging; the only way to get it down far enough for her to get out was to turn on the ignition, which would create an electrical charge on this antique.   Which also might set off the hydrogen trapped inside the cabin.  

The gouge was seriously bleeding now, enough to run down her bare leg.  She pressed down on the injured leg to try to slow the flow; dark red blood seeped between her fingers, which probably meant she had a nicked artery.   Christine was getting weak, so she wasn’t going to have the strength to heave herself out if she waited much longer.   The engine didn’t have to be started—only switched on.   She had no idea how long it would take for the gas around her to detonate or if the charge from the ignition was enough to trigger it. Blow up or bleed out?  She closed her eyes.  Please, Spock.  Please hurry, she silently prayed.

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Spock came around a bend in the road and saw the rental that Christine has driven to the cabin crashed on its side.   There was no sign of her.  Breaking into a run, he made for wreckage.   The Vulcan hadn’t made it twenty feet when a massive explosion roared upward, and all he could see was a fireball where the vehicle had been.

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Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, and the search team found Spock at the depression in the ground where there was now not enough left metal left to identify what had actually been destroyed.   Spock stared at it, his face emotionless, but his insides were churning.  She was dead.   Christine was dead.   He turned and McCoy was sitting on the ground looking dazed and staggered by what he saw before him.    Jim Kirk walked over and stood beside Spock, who to others may look normal, but the captain knew better.

“Spock….what the hell is going on?  How did you know where to look and why do you believe Dr. Chapel was….here?”  Kirk gestured with his hand to the fire.  “Spock,” he said in a firmer voice, “I need to know what happened here.” 

The Vulcan couldn’t look at him.   “She saved my life.  It was….my time….like with T’Pring.   I would have died, but she wouldn’t allow it, and, now, she is dead instead of me.”

Kirk moved to stand in front of his friend, and said, “Spock, this was not your fault.  It was a terrible accident. No one is to blame.”  

Appearing to gather himself, Spock moved around Kirk as if he hadn’t spoken at all.    He walked around what was left burning and continued down the road away from everyone else.  

Suddenly, he yelled, “Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy, down here!”  

His friends joined Spock where he was kneeling on the ground.  In his hand, he held a broken chain and still attached was a green stone.  Rising to his feet, he held it out.  “This belongs to Dr. Chapel.  I have seen her wear it.”

Leonard McCoy was stunned.  “She got out.  She may still be alive!” 

Kirk signaled to the rest of the crewmen there, “Fan out and find her!  Move!”

Spock was almost out of sight, already moving down the mountain.  

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Christine had managed to escape only minutes before the explosion.  The blast had hurled her face down, she had no time to break her fall.   Now bleeding from a scalp wound and her head aching, she was sitting by the side of the road, leaning against a tree, trying to apply pressure to her leg and her scalp wound.  Catching movement out of her peripheral vision, at first she thought she was hallucinating from shock and a probable head injury.

Kneeling beside her, he said as calmly as possible, “You’re alive.”  Spock didn’t realize that he had placed his hand on her shoulder and clasped her tightly, finally releasing her.

Giving him another of her half smiles, the doctor said, “That is an illogical statement of the obvious.”  He placed his hand on one of her hands, one of the few uninjured looking parts of her body. 

“Yes, it is.  I find my logic fails me when it comes to you, doctor.”

Tears began to pool into her eyes and she finally gave in to exhaustion, pain, and fear.  “I didn’t think you were coming.”  There were now watery streaks through the blood and dirt on her face.  “You did come for me?” 

McCoy and a medical team were fast approaching them, but not before he looked at her dazed expression and said gently, “Christine, from now on, I will always come for you.”  Spock wasn’t sure she heard him.  She had fainted dead away.

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Commander Spock entered Sickbay to find it unusually quiet.  The nurse on duty looked up at him, and said, “Dr. McCoy went to eat.  He should be back soon, sir.”

“Thank you, but I am not here for Dr. McCoy.”  He entered the private room where Christine lay sedated and asleep.  Moving a chair beside her bed he sat down beside her. He watched her chest rise and fall and checking the readouts above her bio-bed.  Reaching forward, Spock took her hand in his and interlocked his long fingers with hers.   And there he was still sitting when McCoy returned. 

Expecting a sarcastic or cutting remark, Spock didn’t even look up at him, not removing his hand.

Instead, McCoy said, “She be as good as new, Spock.  I am not going to let anything else happen to her.”

“I know that Christine will be cared for diligently and attentively by you, Doctor McCoy.”

Hesitating, McCoy said, “I know what she did for you.  There were a lot of injuries and bruises, but I know fingerprints when I see them.”  Continuing he, said, “She wouldn’t want you here out of pity.”

Spock turned to stare ominously at him.  For a moment, McCoy thought he say a flash of intense anger, but it was quickly squelched.  The doctor saw a muscle visibly constrict in the Vulcan’s jaw as if he were struggling not to lash out.

“Do not ever say that again.  Vulcan’s do not ‘pity,’ “he said sternly, turning back to look at Christine, ignoring McCoy.

The Southerner’s face relaxed and his eyes softened as he looked at him, “Well, in that case, you stay as long as you both need, Spock.  I will see to it that you are not disturbed.”

“Thank you….Leonard.”

As the craggy faced doctor turned to leave, he couldn’t resist one parting shot, “Oh, and by the way, it’s about damn time.   Damned Vulcan can’t see what’s right in front of him!”

Spock looked at Christine, still beautiful even with the bandages and bruises, lying on the table. Holding her hand, he used the other to brush the silky hair back from her face.  A faint smile turned up the corners of his mouth, as he leaned forward to whisper, “Yes, it is about time, Christine.  It’s our time.”


End file.
